The Eulogy
by Madame Rose
Summary: Fred Weasley is my other half. Despite the fact that he was born ten minutes before me, we began as one person, one embryo, and one egg. I guess that’s why we’re so close – we share the same DNA. DH Spoilers, Oneshot


**Author's Note**: No! I don't own Fred, George, Harry Potter, or anything else mentioned in this story. I wish I could own them, but that honor belongs to JKR, not me. THIS DOES HAVE DEATHLY HALLOWS SPOILERS! I AM WARNING YOU NOW!

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The sky was a deep azure blue, and few clouds dotted its perfection. A slight breeze made the July day quite comfortable, causing rustles in the bright green leaves of several oak trees. Flowers waved in the tall grass that grew around the rushing river, their vibrant hues lending splashes of color to the primarily jade landscape. The sound of a rushing river added a unique note to the trills of birds, creating a symphony of nature. It was a peaceful day, but at the same time it was filled with life and energy.

It was a day Fred would have liked.

In various chairs set in neat rows across the park were members of the Weasley family, accompanied by their closest friends. It was a rather small congregation, considering the size of the family at hand, and strangely silent. No words were spoken, and even the smallest, turquoise tufted baby, did not dare make a sound. All eyes were trained on a dark mahogany casket that rested on top of an ivory draped table, adorned with white roses. A small picture frame, silver and simple, sat on top of the flowers, a redheaded face grinning out of it. Every so often Fred would wink at the crowd or widen his smile, but nothing more could be done. It was just a cheap rendition of who Fred used to be, not of who he actually was.

Because, after all, Fred was gone.

Sitting in the front row, three chairs from the end of the line, was the mirror image of Fred Weasley. Grief and disbelief were etched across his face as the young man sat, stony and statue-like, in his seat. Tears were streaming down his face in silent rivers but he did not shake; in fact, the only movements George Weasley seemed to make since the death of his twin was the involuntary breath, accompanied by the equally involuntary blink of an eye. He longed to stop these actions – in George's eyes, it wasn't fair that he was still breathing, that his heart was still beating, and Fred's was not. Never in their short life had the pair done anything without the other, and now that George was alone he didn't know how to act.

And yet the expected him to speak at his twin's funeral. Naturally George accepted; what other options were there? The time was fast approaching, as the pastor had just taken his seat, and an involuntary shiver of trepidation slunk down his lanky spine. Running a pallid, yet still freckled, hand through his famous red hair, George rose to his feet, keeping his eyes peeled on the ground beneath his shoes. Still, he could feel dozens of pairs of eyes follow his every footstep as he brought himself closer and closer to the podium that stood next to Fred's casket. For some odd reason they'd set up a muggle contraption known as a microphone – Arthur Weasley explained it all to George before the ceremony. Now, though, he could not recall his father's words, and a troubled expression graced his features as long fingers caressed the cool metal. Their soft touch echoed over the grounds, and a bemused expression overcame George's face as he leapt away from the stand. Soft chuckles emanated from the crowd, sad but still amused. For several moments George remained motionless, staring at his twin's coffin, until a quiet sob from his mother reminded the twenty year old why he was there. Clearing his throat, he stood behind the microphone and cleared his throat.

"My name is George Weasley," he began softly, not quite sure what to say. There hadn't been time for him to prepare a proper eulogy; barely four days had passed since the battle that changed his life. "I'm twenty years old, and my brother is Fred Weasley. Actually, I don't think brother is the correct term…My twin is Fred Weasley. No, that's not right either." His words trailed off as George's light blue eyes, almost as glassy and empty as Fred's, darted around the congregation. "Fred Weasley is my other half. Despite the fact that he was born ten minutes before me, we began as one person, one embryo, and one egg. I guess that's why we're so close – we share the same DNA." George knew that his words were confusing the crowd; after all, they were confusing him as well. Sighing slightly and shaking his head, he glanced towards his brother's coffin, silently begging for help. _Why aren't you here to help me, Fred?_ he thought to himself, tears threatening to pour down his face once more.

Clearing his throat again, George opened his mouth to speak once more. "I'm not used to doing things without Fred, and I'm sure that you can tell by my actions on this stand. Fred was always the talker, and I was the brains behind many of our operations. Granted, we were both troublemakers and I'm sure Filch was glad when we left Hogwarts, but his name always came first. Fred and George Weasley, pranksters extraordinaire..But here I am now, left to wax eloquent about my deceased brother…See, that's not my job. I'm just supposed to think up the words – Fred was the one who was supposed to say them." George's voice cracked as a diamond tear ran down the side of his cheek, and another tremor ran through his body. "I don't know if any of you can imagine the pain I'm feeling right now. Not that I'm trying to minimize yours," he reassured them upon seeing the outrage that crossed many of their faces. "No, I'm just trying to explain to you how terribly, terribly broken I feel right now."

"When we were born, or so my mom has told us, we both cried until we were allowed to share the same crib. That's never changed – we've never been able to sleep in separate beds. I remember when Fred and I first came to Hogwarts we were called 'freaks' because of it, but eventually everyone grew accustomed to the bond we shared. At night, much to the dismay of the people we shared a dormitory with; we would stay awake and discuss our plans for the future. Since a young age we'd wanted to open a joke shop with our own products, and we'd talk about this for hours on end. Eventually, though, one of us would fall asleep, and the other was never slow to follow. Fred usually fell asleep before me…" A dreamy expression came over George's face as he let one of his hands drop to the coffin beside him. He was lost in the world of memory for several minutes before Arthur cleared his throat, reminding George that he had to continue with the eulogy he was making up on the spot.

"I wish that I could say more to all of you, but I really can't. There are no words I can use to express the grief I feel, just like there are no words that I can use to convey how much I love Fred. I'm sure half of you think I'm mental because I keep using the present tense, but it's because I'm still so sure Fred isn't dead. When we were little, see, he made a promise to me. Fred promised that he would never leave me, and up until four days ago that was true. In so many ways I wish I could be cliché and tell you all that he still lives on in my heart, but I can't. I'm still searching for that glimmer of Fred that resides in the corner of my heart, the twin brother that will always be by my side. But I haven't found him yet, and until I do all I can say is that this isn't funny, Fred. The joke is over. I love you, okay? I know that you were angry with me because I refused to tell you that the night before the battle, but it was just because of my stupid pride. But I'm saying it now, Freddie, in front of everyone. I. Love. You. More than you can ever imagine. Now wake up." He turned his head towards the casket, hoping that he would see Fred leaping out of it, grinning and clapping him on the back.

But the casket remained as still as ever, and the picture of Fred on top of it continued to grin and wink at the crowd. Despite George's confession in front of the dozens of people that he didn't want to see his emotional side, he vocalized his love. An anguished cry tore from his lips and, feeling his legs give out beneath him for the umpteenth time in four days, George allowed his misery to finally consume him.

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Please rate and review! It's not the best, I know, but I'm really having trouble putting George's scattered and hurt and angsty emotions into words.

---Rose


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